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OVER THE HILLS OF HOME 
AND OTHER POEMS 



Over the Hills of Home 

and Other Poems 



BY 



LILIAN LEVERIDGE 




NEW YORK 
E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 

68i FIFTH AVENUE 






Copyright, igi8. 
By E. p. DUTTON & COMPANY 



All Rights Reserved 



Printed in the United States of America 

JUN 10 \m 

©GI.A487655 



I 



TO MOTHER 

There shines no pearl in the deep, deep sea. 

Mother of mine. 
So fair, so rare as your love to mey 

Mother, mother of mine. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Over THE Hills OF Home ii 

The Way of the British i6 

Woman's Part 20 

Nutting 23 

A Winter's Night 26 

Near to Nature's Heart 28 

Springland 30 

The Song of the Wood Thrush ... 34 

My Philosophy 39 

What's THE Use? 41 

Trifles 44 

The Dreamer 47 

The Little Green Gate 49 

Day Dreams 52 

In the Twilight 54 

Love's Ministry 57 

[7] 



PAGE 

The Easter Winds 60 

Vacation at Grandma's 63 

A Little Bit of Verse (fj 

Sydney Carton 70 

A Smile from You 77 

By Wireless 78 

The Mountain Top 81 

The Noonday Chimes 85 

Mother of Mine 87 



18] 



OVER THE HILLS OF HOME 
AND OTHER POEMS 



OVER THE HILLS OF HOME* 

LADDIE, little laddie, come with me 
over the hills. 
Where blossom the white May lilies, and the 

dogwood and daffodils; 
For the Spirit of Spring is calling to our spir- 
its that love to roam 
Over the hills of home, laddie, over the hills 
of home. 

Laddie, little laddie, here's hazel and 
meadow rue, 

And wreaths of the rare arbutus, a-blowing 
for me and you; 

And cherry and bilberry blossoms, and haw- 
thorn as white as foam. 

We'll carry them all to Mother, laddie, over 
the hills at home. 

* {Written as a tribute to Corporal Frank E. Leveridge, 
fwho died in France, after being ivounded in action,) 

[II] 



OVER THE HILLS OF HOME 

Laddie, little laddie, the winds have many a 

song, 
And blithely and bold they whistle to us as 

we trip along; 
But your own little song is sweeter, your own 

with its merry trills; 
So, whistle a tune as you go, laddie, over the 

windy hills. 

Laddie, little laddie, 'tis time that the cows 

were home. 
Can you hear the klingle-klangle of their bell 

in the greenwood gloam? 
Old Rover is waiting, eager to follow the 

trail with you. 
Whistle a tune as you go, laddie, whistle a 

tune as you go. 

Laddie, little laddie, there's a flash of a blue- 
bird's wing. 

O hush ! If we wait and listen we may hear 
him carolling. 

[12] 



OVER THE HILLS OF HOME 

The vesper song of the thrushes, and the 
plaint of the whip-poor-wills — 

Sweet, how sweet is the music, laddie, over 
the twilit hills. 



Brother, little brother, your childhood is 

passing by. 
And the dawn of a noble purpose I see In 

your thoughtful eye. 
You have many a mile to travel and many a 

task to do; 
Whistle a tune as you go, laddie, whistle a 

tune as you go. 

Laddie, soldier laddie, a call comes over the 

sea, 
A call to the best and bravest in the land of 

liberty, 
To shatter the despot's power, to lift up the 

weak that fall. 
Whistle a song as you go, laddie, to answer 

your country's call. 

[13] 



OVER THE HILLS OF HOME 

Brother, soldier brother, the Spring has come 
back again, 

But her voice from the windy hilltops is call- 
ing your name in vain; 

For never shall we together 'mid the birds 
and the blossoms roam 

Over the hills of home, brother, over the 
hills of home. 

Laddie ! Laddie ! Laddie ! "Somewhere 

in France" you sleep, 
Somewhere 'neath alien flowers and alien 

winds that weep. 
Bravely you marched to battle, nobly your 

life laid down. 
You unto death were faithful, laddie; yours 

is the victor's crown. 

Laddie ! Laddie ! Laddie ! How dim is the 
sunshine grown. 

As mother and I together speak softly in ten- 
der tone ! 

[14] 



OVER THE HILLS OF HOME 

And the lips that quiver and falter have ever 

a single theme, 
As we list for your dear, lost whistle, laddie, 

over the hills of dream. 

Laddie, beloved laddie ! How soon should 
we cease to weep 

Could we glance through the golden gateway, 
whose keys the angels keep ! 

Yet love, our love that is deathless, can fol- 
low you where you roam, 

Over the hills of God, laddie, the beautiful 
hills of Home. 



[15] 



THE WAY OF THE BRITISH 

IT isn't the way of the British, 
In the fight for country and King, 
On the fair, white field of their valor. 

The shadow of shame to bring. 
There isn't a lad in the army. 

There isn't a lad on the sea. 
Would dim the light of his honor 
By a deed of infamy. 

It isn't the way of Britain 

To grasp with greedy hand, 
And hold with a despot's power, 

Domain in a friendly land. 
But she fights for "a scrap of paper," 

She dies for "an old colored rag," 
When the one is her word of promise. 

And the other her blood-stained flag. 
[i6] 



THE WAY OF THE BRITISH 

It isn't the way of the British, 

With ruthless hands of hate, 
The priceless things of a nation 

To plunder and desecrate. 
Not 'gainst defenceless women 

And children their guns are turned; 
Not 'gainst the weak and fallen — 

That isn't the way they've learned. 

It isn't the way of the British 

To strike like the heathen hordes, 
To torture the hapless captives 

They take at the point of their swords. 
That was never the way with Britain. 

Her strength is the strength of ten; 
For her sons in her far-flung warfare 

Fight ever like gentlemen. 

There were thirty or more of our gunners- 
It seems now so long ago — 

Were called to a post of peril, 
In the path of the furious foe. 

[17] 



THE WAY OF THE BRITISH 

It was certain death, and they knew it; 

But the valor in each heart burned. 
**Good-by, good-by to you, fellows!'* 

They called — and never returned. 

Again came the short, sharp summons; 

And there dashed through the sulphurous 
smoke, 
With the same farewell to their comrades, 

While a wreath of smile outbroke — 
Thirty to follow the thirty; 

And the eager ranks closed in. 
That is the way of the British. 

That is the way they win. 

This is the way of the British — 

In the strength of their righteous cause, 
Upheld by the hosts of heaven. 

They strike for their King and laws. 
From what do they shrink — our soldiers? 

They may lose in the fearful fray 
Their lives, but never their honor. 

Who fight in the British way. 
[i8] 



THE WAY OF THE BRITISH 

Then here^s to you, lads in the army. 

And here^s to you, lads on the sea; 
To your hands that are strong and steady. 

To your hearts that are true and free! — 
Though long it he ere the dawning, 

It Cometh at last — the day. 
When all that you've fought for, bled for. 

You shall win in the British way. 



[19] 



WOMAN'S PART 

KNEEL down, kneel down, ye mothers, 
Kneel down, ye sisters and wives, 
And plead with the God of Battles 
To spare your loved ones' lives. 
Pray for your stricken sisters 

Who wait by the lonely hearth, 
Whence the glow is failed and the gladness 
fled, 
And the light is lost from earth. 

Kneel down, kneel down! — for the conflict 

Grows deadly and fierce and long. 
And the hearts of the foe are hateful. 

And the arms of the foe are strong. 
Yet the Judge of the whole earth giveth 

The battle to whom He will. 
Weep on, ye mothers — If ye must weep — 

Till He whispers, "Peace, be still!'* 

[20] 



WOMAN'S PART 

Kneel down, kneel down ! — There are terrors 

That stalk in the noonday light; 
There are scalding drops of anguish 

That fall in the fearful night, 
Where homes are ablaze like beacons, 

Where the winds are a-moan with pain. 
Where your sons and your brothers stand to 
fight 

'Mid the drip of the warm red rain. 

Kneel down, kneel down ! They are thinking 

This moment, perchance, of you. 
They see you bow in the silence, 

Alone 'mid the starlit dew. 
They — they must stand at the cannon, 

They must look to the gatling gun : 
But the might of your prayer upholds them 
there 

Till the field is fought and won. 

Rise up, rise up, ye mothers, 

Ye sisters and wives, arise ! 
To the wide, ripe fields of labor 

Lift up, lift up your eyes ! 

[21] 



WOMAN'S PART 

There are suffering ones by thousands 
Your ministering hands may bless, 

And desolate mourners that weep alone, 
Widows and fatherless. 

To pray, to hope, to succor. 

To comfort the sick at heart, 
This is your field of battle, 

This is your worn n's part. 
Then pray while ye toil and suffer. 

Yes, weep, if weep ye will. 
Till, quelling to quiet the clashing arms, 

Comes the whisper, 'Teace, be still!" 



[22] 



NUTTING 

1WANT to go nutting to-day, mother. 
There's a hint of frost In the air, 
Though the sun is spreading a cloth of gold 

On the uplands, rich and fair. 
Young voices call that the brown nuts fall 

And the squirrel scolds and grieves. 
Let us haste away to the woods to-day, 
In the Moon of Falling Leaves. 

I want to go nutting to-day, mother,-^ 

O mother! 'tis only a dream. 
'TIs many a mile to the hazel copse 

On the bank of the silver stream. 
'TIs many a year since I wandered there. 

Where the whistling winds are wild — 
As wild as they, in that far-off day, 

Was I as a little child. 

[23] 



NUTTING 

Should I go nutting to-day, mother, 

I must follow the path alone — 
The path that winds by the hazel copse 

And down by the mossy stone ; 
For the ringing beat of the boyish feet 

That clambered the rocky hill 
Falls never again on field or plain. 

Or the woodlands lone and still. 

O, where are the boys to-day, mother, 

Our boys so bonnie and bright. 
The lads who gathered the hazel nuts 

In the golden Autumn light? 
For over the hill floats the echo still 

Of laughter light and gay. 
While alone at the gate I watch and wait — 

They tarry so long away. 

They heard the call of the bugles, mother. 
And the rallying roll of drums. 

O, who can stay in the hazel copse 
When the call to a hero comes? 

[24] 



NUTTING 

One marches to-day 'neath the colors gay 

To a far-away field of fight; 
And the warfare of one is over and done. 

He rests on the hills of light. 

I want to go nutting to-day, mother, 

On the hills where the winds are free; 
But only the Spirit of Silence there 

Will walk and will talk with me. 
For the laughter of yore awakes no more 

On the path where the dim light weaves 
A web of dreams by the silver streams. 

In the Moon of Falling Leaves. 



[25] 



A WINTER'S NIGHT 

OH ! the rare delight of a winter's night, 
When drifted snows gleam whitely, 
When sleigh-bells chime with wild, sweet 
rhyme, 
And mirthful lips laugh lightly ! 



How pure and clear is the frosty air 
From far-off hilltops blowing! 

What joy it brings to the voice that sings, 
What light to bright eyes glowing! 



Night's thousand eyes from sapphire skies 
With glances soft are beaming, 

And all aglow in the fields of snow 
Are countless jewels gleaming. 

[26] 



A tVINTER'S NIGHT 



Come out to-night to the hills alight, 

To forests still and hoary, 
Where moonbeams play o'er the shining way 

And bathe the world in glory. 



[27] 



NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 

IN yonder greening deeps a veery voices 
His plaintive note that almost thrills to 
tears, 
So sweet it is. Could I but learn that music, 
This harp of mine should echo down the 
years. 

Ye wildwood blossoms, ye are poems written 
In God's great wonder-book by His own 
hand. 
'Tis yours to teach the happiest of lessons 
In words that all who read may under- 
stand. 

Blue Violets in dewy mosses hiding, 

And breathing peerless perfumes on the 
wind. 

Ye tell me there is blessedness in shadow. 
That lowly, simple souls may surely find. 

[28] 



NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART 

Gay Columbines, ye say that life is lovely, 
And brimming o'er with brightness even 
yet. 

Laughing ye lift your ruby cups of honey 
And bid me cease to murmur and to fret. 

Fair Dogwood, hanging garlands by the way- 
side, 
Rare Honeysuckle, leaning from your 
bowers, 
And Hawthorn, scattering snowflakes on the 
breezes, 
Ye gladden with your beauty all the hours. 

Ye thousand, thousand silver stars that 
spangle 

This emerald firmament of leaf and blade, 
Yc bid me lift my eyes, and bravely trusting. 

Go forward unashamed and unafraid. 

Dear Mother Nature, leaning on thy bosom, 
I half forget the things that made me sad. 

Out in the world of toil and strife, be with 
me: 
Teach me to love, to hope, and to be glad. 

[29] 



SPRINGLAND 

ALL the flowers are sleeping, all the trees 
are bare; 

All the little fairy winds that wandered whis- 
pering there, 

Golden sunbeams glancing, happy birds at 
play. 

All have flown toward the Southland, far and 
far away. 

Yet in dreams glory-gleams drift across the 
snow. 

Faces fair meet me here, loves of long ago. 

Once again I wander down the leafy lane. 
Where the woodthrush and the robin sing 

their morning strain. 
Once again I linger, gathering violets blue. 
Waiting In the woodland pathway, dear old 

friend, for you. 

[30] 



SPRINGLAND 



Buds unfold hearts of gold, fresh with 

fragrant dew, 
While I wait. You are late; what is keep- 



ing you ? 



List ! the leaflets whisper, robins carol shrill. 
Now I hear your lilting laughter floating 

down the hill. 
Books a-swinging gaily, sun hat all awry, 
Comes my merry, witching schoolmate, morn- 
ing in her eye. 
Wildflower grace lights her face. All the 

rosy spring. 
Everywhere passing fair, knows no sweeter 
thing. 

**MollIe, I have waited long for you," I cry. 
*'Have you solved the Euclid problems? Did 

you find Delhi, 
Fuji-san and Klondike, Fife and Innlsfree? 
Though I tolled for hours and hours they 

still eluded me." 

[31] 



SPRINGLAND 

Hark! the bell down the dell rings a sum- 
mons sweet. 

Swift we run. Shade and sun flash beneath 
our feet. 

Silent stands the schoolhouse 'neath its shel- 
tering trees; 

Softly through the open window comes the 
drone of bees. 

We are bees that gather honey-drops to 
store — 

Golden honey-drops of wisdom from the old 
world's lore. 

O how fleet are the sweet school days! All 
too soon 

They are sped, youth has fled, morning melts 
to noon. 

Wayward, laughter-loving, are my mate 

and I. 
He, the grave and kindly master, looks with 

patient sigh 

[32] 



SPRINGLAND 

Oft toward our corner — never once to chide. 
In our wilful way we love him( — teacher, 

friend and guide. 
Yet we prove not our love. Does he know 

or care? 
Hush! the day dies away, and the night is 

near. 

Night, and snowy silence, moonbeams pale 
and chill ! 

Night — and not a wildwood blossom on the 
wintry hill! 

You have passed before me, loves of school- 
days dear. 

To the sunny bowers of Springland, flower- 
clad and fair. 

Some glad day, far away, each dear face I'll 
see. 

I am late — will you wait on the hills for me? 



[33] 



THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH 

BELOVED bird, I hear thee calling, call- 
ing. 
Where sun-kist morning smiles. 
A very shower of liquid music falling 

Adown the forest aisles 
Rains radiantly upon my spirit. Lightly 

The dewy gates of sleep 
Fold back. I enter where the sunbeams 
brightly 
Tryst with the roses keep. 

Beyond the garden and beyond the meadows, 

Beyond the breezy hill, 
Through quivering Hghts and dusky violet 
shadows, 

I follow, follow still; 

[34] 



THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH 

Till here, where never human footfall 
soundeth, 
'Mid breath of scented bloom, 
Where heaven's peace and earth's warm love 
aboundeth, 
I find thy hermit home. 

High up amid the green boughs swaying, 
swinging, 
Thy drowsy nestlings dream, 
Weaving with silver splendors of thy singing 

The morning's golden beam. 
O dwellers of the glowing dawn, what sweet- 
ness 
Of lullaby you list! 
Cradled and folded fast in love's complete- 
ness, 
Wind-rocked, song-soothed, star-kist! 

How lovely Is the world where Nature 
kneeleth 

With folded hands to pray! 
All loveliness thy clear songshine revealeth; 

The blue heavens far away 

[35] 



THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH 

Are leaning lower, winds ahush are listening, 

And all the flowers rejoice, 
With tears of gladness on their faces glisten- 
ing, 

Blest bird, to hear thy voice. 



Those fluted notes, so pure, so richly mel- 
lowed. 

How silvery they flow I 
A pause, a hush, and then a peerless prelude 

In tender tremolo — 
A soft song-whisper — ushers in the glory 

Of thy sublimer strain. 
The song that tells thy passionate love story 

Again and yet again. 



Immersed within that flowing flood of rap- 
ture, 

A baptism divine. 
Some Eden-gleam my spirit may recapture. 

Whose glories round thee shine. 

[36] 



THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH 

Some little measure of thy inspiration, 

Light not of land nor sea — 
The blessed, kindly light of consecration! — 

Thy music showers on me. 

Yet though thy matin song Is keyed to glad- 
ness, 

Joy breathes In every note. 
Thy hymn at even is athrill with sadness 

That trembles in thy throat. 
Hast thou, sweet bird, some unfulfilled de- 
sire, 

Some longing, wild and vain. 
That, howsoe'er thy throbbing hopes aspire. 

Thou canst not yet attain? 

O forest child, no dream that's worth the 
dreaming 
But some day will come true. 
Then let us sing while life's glad morning 
gleaming 
Inspires our love anew. 

[37] 



THE SONG OF THE WOOD THRUSH 

Yes, we will sing, unwearied and unresting. 

Who knows what bHss may wait 
For you and me, dear comrade of my quest- 
ing, 

Beyond the sunset gate ? 



[38] 



MY PHILOSOPHY 

SAY ! Fm glad Vm livln' such a glorious 
day. 
Makes me feel like dancin' two-steps all the 

way; 
Makes me feel as rich as any millionaire, 
With a sure life Interest in a world so fair. 

Diamonds In the dew-drops, sunshine drop- 
pin' gold, 

Better'n all the nuggets Klondike mountains 
hold; 

Sky a sea of azure, one white cloud afloat, 

Sallln' soft and airy like a fairy's boat. 

Lovely flowers a-flingin' perfumes to the 

breeze; 
Little winds a-quiver In the leafy trees; 
Little birds s-slngin' like they'd never stop — 
Joy as Hght as bubbles comes right to the top. 

[39] 



MY PHILOSOPHY 

Bumble bees a-buzzin' in the buckwheat 

flowers, 
Haulin' home the honey In the shinln' hours; 
Rivulets a-llspin', as they flow along, 
Happy little secrets, trills of summer song. 
All day long the gladness, loveliness and 

light, 
Then the starry stillness o' the welcome 

night; 
All life long the blessings scattered from 

God's hand. 
Then the rest remainin' in the Promised 

Land. 

Heart o' mine, be joyful! — Ain't no call for 
tears. 

Garner up the sunbeams all along the years. 

Souls that seek for brightness find it mani- 
fold. 

Heart o' mine, be joyful! Gather in the 
gold. 



[40] 



WHAT'S THE USE 

WHAT'S the use, dear heart, of sighing 
Just because the skies are gray. 
And the bright things that you dream of 

Never seem to come your way? 
Storms and shadows make the sunshine 

Afterward more clear and bright. 
Joy of dawn can only follow 
After dreary glooms of night. 

What^s the use of idly wishing 

For a soft and easy time? 
They who gain the sunny summits 

Are not carried there — they climb. 
Man was made for strong endeavor. 

Rich and rare the recompense 
That's awaiting grit and daring, 

Tempered well with common sense. 

[41] 



IV HATS THE USE 

Whaf s the use of fuss and fretting 

When the world seems going wrong? 
Time will smooth out all the tangles 

In the knotted skein ere long. 
Ever in the keenest conflict 

Worry's on the losing side. 
Follow faith, whose voice of quiet 

Safe to victory will guide. 

What's the use of fondly dreaming 

Of the great things you would do, 
Scorning little, lowly duties, 

Day by day that call for you? 
By the path of slight endeavor 

Honor cometh not — but such 
As are faithful in the little 

May be trusted with the much. 

What's the use of weakly yielding 
To a foolish fit of "blues"? 

Whistling's better far than weeping — 
You can whistle if you choose. 

[42] 



WHAT'S THE USE 

Wherefore magnify your troubles? 

Wherefore minimize your hope, 
Viewing virtues through the wrong end 

Of Love's mighty telescope? 

What's the use of pensive pining 

For the Alpine edelweiss, 
While about your feet are blowing 

Flowers as fair at lesser price? 
When you've used up all the sweetness 

That along your path is shed. 
Angel hands will surely scatter 

Brighter blessings on your head. 

What's the use of dull despairing 

When you've fought so hard and failed? 
After countless disappointments 

Heights of glory oft are scaled. 
Obstacles, mistakes and failures 

Stepping stones may prove to you. 
Courage, then! Nor faint, nor falter 

Till you win your Waterloo. 

[43] 



TRIFLES 

IT was only a kindly greeting 
And the grip of a warm, strong hand 
As I faltered — a friendless stranger — 

At the gate of an unknown land; 
But the light of a star shone clearly 

Through the dusk of the twilight gray; 
And my heart was a-thrill with music 
That night as I knelt to pray. 

It was only a gift of flowers, 

As I passed with weary tread 
Where she stood, In the summer gloaming, 

In the midst of her garden bed: 
But the breath of those bright, fresh blos- 
soms, 

And the smile In her soul-lit eyes. 
Kindled hope In my shadowed spirit. 

And filled me with sweet surprise. 

[44] 



TRIFLES 

It was only a little letter 

In the tremulous lines of a child; 
But it silenced the sigh of a heart-ache, 

And my burden of care beguiled: 
For it said I was not forgotten, 

Though our ways were wide apart; 
And I sang with tender gladness. 

For the love of that little heart. 

It was only a pale pressed blossom 

From haunts where I used to stray; 
But it brought me a tender token 

Of love from the Faraway: 
And I heard once more the sighing 

Of the pines by the limpid lake, 
When those fragrant rose-tipped petals 

I kissed for old time's sake. 



Mere trifles, long forgotten! — 
Yet a sweetness still they bring, 

For to me they were chords of music 
Whose echoes like harp-notes ring. 

[45] • 



TRIFLES 



And the silence of memory's hall-ways 
Grows sweet as the years grow long 

For love, is it not immortal? 
And kindness a deathless song? 



[46] 



THE DREAMER 

THE great life passions, burning love 
and hate, 
In the great world strive mightily for 
power. 
Mine are the little loves by Nature nursed — 
The bird on wing, the blossom In the 
bower. 

The winds that wander from the far-off hills 
Bring me a thousand messages. The wave 

That laps at evening on the twilit shore 
Whispers to me in pensive tones and grave. 

The rill that ripples on its pebbly way 
Brings me a gift of laughter, low and 
sweet. 
The forest leaves, they clap their hands for 
me, 
And all their little summer songs repeat. 
[47] 



THE DREAMER 

I share the brown bee's perfumed honey 
dew; 

My spirit dances with the butterfly; 
To me the cricket on his violin 

Plays all night long a lilting lullaby. 

Strange melodies I hear 'mid pine and fir — - 

Rare, fragmentary notes from heaven 

adrift, 

That floating, zephyr-wafted, 'mid the blue. 

On frail dream-wings my listening spirit 

lift. 

Perchance beyond th.z sunset and the dawn, 
Amid the symphonies of seraph-song. 

And deathless roses, I at last may find 
The warmer, closer love for which I long. 



[48] 



THE LITTLE GREEN GATE 

AWAY from the stress of the city, 
And to ceaseless, echoing sound 
Of tireless toiling and spinning. 

And pleasure — a dizzying round — 
With never a haunting whisper 

Of duties that press and wait, 
We fold our hands in the noontide. 
And dream, by a little green gate. 

The sun glows clear in the heavens — 

A luminous sapphire dome — 
And filters gold through the maple 

Where a robin has built her home. 
Comes rippling over and over 

Her "Cheerily, cheer up, cheer! 
'Tis the season of roses and clover — 

O cheer up, cheerily, dear!" 

[49] 



THE LITTLE GREEN GATE 

In a fragrant blossoming locust 

A golden oriole swings 
Abreast of the frolicksome breezes, 

He preens his beautiful wings. 
A catbird hides in the cedars, 

And out of his dim retreat 
He pours, like a lovesome poet, 

A rollicking rhyme and sweet. 

Each pause in the birds' glad chorus 

Is filled by the soft, low sigh 
And whisper of leaves and grasses. 

As the winds go wandering by — 
Wild winds from the blue hills yonder. 

That watch by the purple tide. 
Where centuries pass in silence. 

And the dreams of the years abide. 

Far off, where the heart of the city 
Beats high with the pulse of life. 

There's a call to the ranks of endeavor. 
There's a challenge for ceaseless strife, 

[50] 



THE LITTLE GREEN GATE 

Away from the blossom-sweet stillness 
There are duties that throng and wait ; 

But Confidence walks with Courage 
While we rest by the little green gate. 



[51] 



DAY DREAMS 

A FAR-OFF light 
Of things that are yet to be, 
Like a pale star-gleam on the wings of dream, 
Floats through the dark to me. 

A dream of Faith 

That shines through the mists of years. 
Till the long, long night Is lost In light. 

And laughter blooms from tears. 

A dream of Hope 

That lives though all else be dead, — 
Hope crowned at last when the pain Is past. 

And the last of the tears are shed. 

A dream of Love, 

The Love that cannot fail, — 
For whate'er befall, Love conquers all. 

And Death shall not prevail. 

[52] 



DAY DREAMS 

Will my dream come true? 

Some day on a far-off shore 
Will Death lie dead on his shrouded bed, 

And Sorrow be no more ? 

Some glad spring dawn 

Will there blossom peace from pain? 
Will the hidden good be understood, 

And lost souls found again? 

Yes! For I know 

That only the good can live. 
On that morning fair, sometime, somewhere, 

All else will Love forgive. 



[53] 



IN THE TWILIGHT 

AT eve In the hush of the twilight 
We sit when the day is done, 
Watching the purpling shadows 

That steal from the sinking sun. 
And the murmur and tender cadence 

Of a loved old song to-night 
Resounds from the keys of the organ 
Agleam in the mellow light. 

A tender peace 

Steals over my soul, 
A sweet release 

From the world's control; 
While soft light wreathes 

With the shadows dim, 
And the silence breathes 

With a sweet old hymn. 

[54] 



IN THE TWILIGHT 

The day has been long and weary, 

But the evening at home brings rest. 
The world is shut out with its worries, 

The heart is no more opprest; 
And cares, Hke the dews of morning. 

Are lifted and swept away 
By the magic spell of music. 

As you sit in the twilight and play. 

Soft, soft, again 

Through the silence dim 
Floats the tender strain 

Of an old sweet hymn. 
'Mid the amber gleam 

Of the sinking sun. 
When dreams we dream 

When the day is done I 

O beautiful hour of the twilight, 

All vocal with sacred song! 
To-night through the shrouding shadows 

How sweet are the thoughts that throng! 

[55] 



IN THE TWILIGHT 

No dreams like those dreams unfading, 
No music with power to please 

Like the old airs that trembled and floated 
From the yellow old ivory keys I 

Mellow and sweet, 

When the day is done 
And shadows meet 

With the sinking sun. 
Soft, soft and low, 

Through the shadows dim, 
The echoes flow 

Of a dear old hymn. 



[56] 



LOVE'S MINISTRY 

RUDELY cradled In a manger, 
Sweetly sleeps a little Child. 
O'er Him bends a maiden Mother, 

Lowly, lovely, undefiled. 
Star-led sages own His kingship; 

Gifts they bring on bended knee. 
What Is there that I may offer 

Him Who left His throne for me? 

Now with gracious touch of healing 

See Him cheer the sick, the sad. 
From the morn until the even 

Making countless mourners glad. 
He is Friend of all the friendless; 

Sweet His loving smile I see. 
What of service may I offer 

Him Who daily blesseth me? 

[57] 



LOVE'S MINISTRY 

Lo! at midnight in the garden 

Kneels alone the Son of God; 
Crimson drops of awful anguish 

Darkly dew the blossomed sod. 
"Must I drink this cup, O Father?" — 

This His agonizing plea — 
"Not My will, but Thine." My Saviour 

Drained those bitter dregs — for me. 

Lifted up 'twixt earth and heaven 

On the cruel cross of shame 
Hangs the Christ. For the redemption 

Of our ruined world He came: 
But they crucified Him, nailing 

Hands that blessed them to the tree. 
Yet He cried, "Forgive them. Father." 

Dying thus, He prayed for me. 

Easter dawns in peerless glory, 

Flower fragrance fills the air. 
Christ hath burst the gloomy portals 

Of the grave. The angels fair 

[58] 



LOVE'S MINISTRY 

Tell the world the wondrous tidings, 

"He is risen. Come and see 
Where He lay/' The glorious Victor 

Vanquished sin and death for me. 

Hark! I hear His sweet voice calling 

O'er the silence long and deep 
Of the ages: "Dost thou love Me? 

Feed My lambs and feed My sheep. 
From the fold My lost ones wander; 

Seek them as I sought for thee. 
Lead them, lift them, bless them, love 
them — 

And ye do it unto Me." 



[59] 



THE EASTER WINDS 

THE little winds of dawning, 
Long centuries ago, 
Went straying in a garden 
With bursting buds aglow. 
A wondrous tale they whispered 

Of One Who loved. Who died 
For men whose hatred pierced Him 
In hands and feet and side. 

Bright angels told His story; 

The winds caught up the song; 
On viewless wings forever 

They bear the strain along. 
The flowers await His coming; 

For love of Hifn they bloom — 
The fadeless Rose of Sharon 

That blossomed from the tomb. 

[60] 



THE EASTER WINDS 

O little winds of Easter 

That blow amid the hills, 
With lily perfume laden 

And breath of daffodils, 
Go, blow across the ocean. 

And carry to "our boys," 
Our truest and our dearest, 

A gift of Easter joys — 

The sweetness of the blossoms. 

The music of the bells, 
That, hour by hour unwearied. 

The glad evangel tells) — 
Of life that blooms unfading. 

Of love that cannot die. 
Of rest and peace abiding 

Beyond our shrouding sky. 

O viewless Easter angels 

That wander round the world. 
Where, reeking red with carnage. 

The bolts of hate are hurled, 
[6i] 



THE EASTER WINDS 

Where, rank on rank, the crosses 

Stand silent on the hill, 
Go, plant the amaryllis. 

The rose, the daffodil. 

Then all the winds of Easter 

Shall bear upon their wings 
To wounded hearts the essence 

Of all life's sweetest things. 
^'The Lord is risen !" shall echo 

From shore to farthest shore, 
And Love shall reign eternal, 

And pain shall be no more. 



[62] 



VACATION AT GRANDMA'S 

ALL In the blue of the summer day, 
From morn till the twilight dewy, 
Tiresome lessons all put away. 
Three dear laddies keep holiday — 
Henry and Jim and Louis. 

O it is joy, pure joy, to be free 
From the thrall of examinations. 

This is the cry of the laddies three : 

^'Holidays are the days for me. 
Hurrah for the glad vacations!'* 

Dangling a worm In the woodland stream 

To tempt the foolish fishes; 
Roaming the fields where the ripe fruits 

gleam — 
"Say, with Grandma's sugar and cream 

Strawberries are delicious!" 

[63] 



VACATION AT GRANDMA'S 

Somewhere the gray rocks, grim and old, 
Are purple with huckleberries. 

Somewhere the hazelnuts turn to gold; 

Somewhere bubbles a spring, ice-cold; 
Somewhere are crimson cherries. 

Somewhere the painted trilliums grow. 
And the bluebells are a-blowing; 

Somewhere are windflowers, white as snow. 

Where? You must ask the boys — they 
know 
All that is worth the knowing. 

Ever a new delight distills 

As the morning buds in beauty. 
Mirthful music of laughter trills 
Up from the valleys, over the hills — 
Joy is the day's one duty. 

Archery contests are on to-day. 

Yon arrow, how swift it wingeth 
Over the roof-tree, up and away. 
Up where the green boughs swing and sway, 

Up where the robin singeth. 

[64] 



VACATION AT GRANDMA'S 

*'What are you doing, my laddies three? 

Your laughter rings so merry." 
"Skinning a woodchuck to cook for tea. 
Have some?" "No thanks, Jim, not for 
me — 

Though it is tempting, very!" 

Skies grow gray and a deluge pours. 

Hurrah for a thrilling story 
Of strange adventures on far-off shores. 
Hidden treasure, and wrecks and wars, 

Valor and fame and glory! 

Books in plenty at Grandma's wait 
For the music of summer showers. 

Pass right in through the story gate; 

Find and follow your soul's true mate, 
Gather the dreamland flowers. 

Vacation comes to an end too soon. 

Farewell to the bracing breezes! 
Yet, if all days held the breath of June, 
If life were sung to a holiday tune, 

Would it be sure to please us? 
[6s] 



VACATION AT GRANDMA'S 

No ! For I know of the holiday song 

The true boy spirit wearies. 
Sure am I you will yearn ere long, 
Yearn to march with the brave and strong. 

Here's good luck to you, dearies ! 



[66] 



I 



A LITTLE BIT OF VERSE 



T may be early, ere the morn has lost its 
crimson flush, 
Or *mid the noonday clamor, or the fragrant 

vesper hush; 
Sometime before the hours of light their tale 

of toil rehearse, 
I seek a treasured volume for a little bit of 
verse. 



When Keats or noble Tennyson a rhythmic 

stanza sings, 
I bathe my soul in beauty and forget life's 

mundane things. 
In Browning's mine I deeply delve for grains 

of golden ore, 
And Ingelow sets my feet in paths they 

never trod before. 

[67] 



A LITTLE BIT OF VERSE 

I honor them, the mighty ones, the laureled 
poet band: 

But oh ! I love the singers of our own Cana- 
dian land. 

The eager years await to crown with stars 
their younger brows, 

And proudly weave about their names the 
myrtle and the rose. 

They sing of dear, familiar things in meas- 
ures wildly sweet, 

Like bird-songs in our native woods when 
night and morning meet. 

But not alone these home-born themes — wide 
as the universe. 

As high as Heaven, as deep as death, the lim- 
its of their verse. 



There's Lampman, Campbell, Carman, 
Scott, there's Crawford, Watson, Rand, 

With others, who have climbed the heights 
and in the starshine stand; 
[68] 



A LITTLE BIT OF VERSE 

A kinship sweet with them I claim as softly 

they rehearse — 
Lifting me skyward, too, awhile — a little bit 

of verse. 



[69] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

{A Tale of Tivo Cities) 

Sydney Carton, so far as we know, is a fictitious char- 
acter — a creation of Charles Dickens' wonderfully prolific 
brain. Yet after all, how very real he is! And how 
strongly his splendid heroism appeals to the noblest in- 
stincts we possess! The Great War is revealing many 
"Sydney Cartons" to-day — men whose lives have seemed 
to be failures, who have never been able to rise above 
environment, circumstance, or heredity; or who, for lack 
of sufficiently inspiring motive, have never amounted to 
anything worth while. But when the great call came, 
with no fuss or ostentation, with no consciousness of hero- 
ism, they quietly stepped into line and "marched breast 
forward." In so doing they have caught the "vision 
splendid," and inspired by its light have done heroic 
things, and laid down their lives, where "In Flanders' 
fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row." 

And so, to all the "Sydney Cartons" of the world, of 
whatever name or race — men who from apparent failure 
have risen to sublime heights of self-sacrifice — these lines 
are reverently inscribed. 

THE hour has come. His courage does 
not falter; 
His smile lights up the gloom, 
As forth to lay his life upon love's altar 
He steps to meet his doom. 

[70] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

In thought he views his friend to safety 
pressing, 

To home and love and peace 
Fast hastening on — so free, so little guessing 

The price of his release. 

He thinks of Lucie — was it vain to love her 
With love more strong than life? 

May holy angels spread their wings above 
her, 
And bear her from the strife ! 

He thinks of Lucie's child; and tender feel- 
ing 
Wells up in unshed tears. 
Across the gloom a vision fair comes steal- 
ing— 
A vision of the years 

Far distant, when that name may shine with 
glory 

That yet no fame has won. 
And loving lips will tell the boy his story 

Whose race Is all but run. 

[71] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

They bind his arms; they leave him in the 
dimness; 
They do not guess his name, 
Nor dream how, courting death in all its 
grimness. 
This hero plays the game. 

A little seamstress, fair and young and slen- 
deri — 

What could she know of guile? — 
Offers a greeting, timid-voiced and tender, 

A wan, pathetic smile. 

"What traitorous thoughts could they have 
feared me thinking? 
What plots could such as I 
Have dreamed or dared? Yet I would 
meet unshrinking 
My death, since I must die. 

**I am so small and weak" — her low tone 
alters, 

Her startled eyes grow dim 
With sudden mist of feeling as she falters, 

^'Stranger, you die for him?" 

[72] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

''Yes, and his wife and child," he whispers, 
folding 
Her small, thin fingers fast. 
''Oh, let me then your strong, brave hand be 
holding!" 
He answers, "Till the last." 

All In the blue and sunny summer weather. 

Amid a heartless throng. 
They take the last, the awful ride together — 

The way will not be long. 

He recks not that the countless hordes stand 
gazing 

Unmoved upon that sight. 
He only sees those trustful eyes upraising 

To his their limpid light. 

He recks not that a myriad voices murmur, 

A myriad footsteps press. 
He only holds her slender fingers firmer 

In meek and mute caress. 

[73] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

Bending his head to meet her gaze confiding, 
Some thought of cheer to give, 

He whispers softly of the peace abiding 
Where radiant angels live. 

Her eyes beam clear; her shrinking heart 
grows braver, 
And calm her quivering breath. 
Her thoughts are fixed on Him Who died to 
save her 
From everlasting death. 

Thus voice to voice, each comforting the 
other. 

Yes, even heart to heart, 
Two children of the universal Mother, 

That else were wide apart. 

All In the blue and sunny summer weather, 

Earth's shadows nearly past, 
Have met to take the homeward way to- 
gether. 

And find a rest at last. 

[74] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

The rumbling tumbrils stop. They pause 
unf earing; 
A light is In each face. 
What should they dread — two humble spir- 
its nearing 
The soul's abiding-place? 

"One question more" — her eyes are dim 
with wonderf — 

"One friend I have most dear. 
Will It seem long that we two walk asunder, 

Until she meet me there?" 

"Fear not, dear child! There are no sad 
to-morrows, 
No partings there, no night. 
They leave behind their burdens and their 
sorrows 
Who pass the gates of light." 

"You comfort me — and Is it now I kiss you?'' 

Smiling he whispers, "Yes. 
Until we meet at yonder gate, God bless 
youl"— 

Their lips together press. 

[75] 



SYDNEY CARTON 

The tender maiden does not faint nor falter 

The short, sharp way to take: 
And Sydney Carton lays upon the altar 

His life for love's sweet sake. 

"I am the resurrection," He that liveth 

Forevermore hath said, 
'T am the life : whoso my word receiveth 

Shall live though he were dead." 



[76] 



A SMILE FROM YOU 

A SMILE from you is all I ask 
To glorify my daily task. 
The skies may weep, the winds may wail, 
All outward founts of joy may fail. 
All costlier graces be denied — 
The morn for me is beautified. 

For just a smile from you may bring 
The birds and blossoms of the spring 
Within my heart to sing and bloom; 
May scatter sunbeams round my room; 
May touch the fringes of the mist 
And turn its gray to amethyst. 

Throughout the hours, it well may be, 
Your thoughts not oft will stray to me. 
Not many words I ask of you 
From morningshine till evening dew. 
But as you pass me on your way, 
Give me a sunny smile to-day. 

[77] 



BY WIRELESS 

YOUR hand and mine have never touched 
in greeting, 
Our eyes have never met: 
Your voice is still to me an unknown music, 

Heard but in dreams — and yet 
Your written words have blest me, cheered 
me, thrilled me. 
And lit the beacon fires 
Of strong resolve, and lofty aspiration, 
And noblest of desires. 

What matter though a thousand miles divide 
us? 
A thousand miles — 'tis naught! 
For kindred souls may converse by the wire- 
less 
Telegraphy of thought. 

[78] 



BY ir I RE LESS 

Upon my mountain-top I catch the mes- 
sage 

That Cometh from afar, 
And coming thrills my universe with music 

Beyond its farthest star. 



It tells me that the good, the true, the lovely. 

Life's well-refined gold. 
If I am strong of heart to seek and find it, 

Is mine to have and hold. 
My spirit calls across the starry vastness 

And answers: Even so — 
Come joy or pain, come shade or shine or 
tempest, 

I will, I will be true. 



O friend unseen, whose hope my hope hath 
kindled. 

Whose strength hath made me strong. 
Be thine the rich reward of high endeavor, 

Life's fruitful years along. 

[79] 



BY WIRELESS 

Be thine the magic melody that floateth 

Adown the hills of dream ! 
Be thine — and mine — to follow, follow star- 
ward 

The glory of the Gleam. 



[80] 



THE MOUNTAIN TOP 

THE summer sun lay golden on the 
mountain, 
And soft about us blew 
The elfin winds, the wild, free winds, that 
morning 
I wandered there with you. 

As up and up to higher levels tending 

We slowly passed along, 
Upon the slippery steeps I did not waver— 

Your hand was firm and strong. 

We gained the heights. The all-encircling 
vastness 
Our quickening pulses thrilled. 
With all the glory, all the wordless wonder, 
Our kindred souls were filled. 
[8i] 



THE MOUNTAIN TOP 

Above us and around us stretched the heav- 
ens, 

And far and far away, 
In misty, opalescent shadows melting, 

The dim horizon lay. 

Up from the town, to mellow music softened, 

There rose a murmurous din. 
As o'er the waves, wind-kissed and sunbeam- 
silvered, 

We watched the boats come in. 

But longer than the fair and pleasant pic- 
ture. 

In sunlight round us spread. 
Within my heart will live the vibrant music 

Of gracious words you said: 

"We may not reach the goal of our en- 
deavor 

Before the sun goes down; 
Yet you and I will upward press, and ever 

Be worthy of our crown. 

[82] 



THE MOUNTAIN TOP 

"No toil is lost, no energy is wasted, 

Our striving is not vain, 
E'en though we win no shining wreath of lau- 
rel, 

No proud, far heights attain. 

*'They are not dead, the seeds of hope we 
scattered 
Along the barren years, 
Though yet there springs no blossom of re- 
joicing. 
No golden fruit appears. 

''Not in the prize, though lovely and allur- 
ing, 
Our best reward must be. 
Is not the strength that comes alone from 
struggle 
Enough for you and me? 

''Enough to have uplifted by our message 

One life for one brief hour; 
Out of one heart a weed to have uprooted, 

And planted there a flower; 

[83] 



THE MOUNTAIN TOP 

"Enough if we a helping hand have given, 
Have strengthened faltering feet, 

Have shed about us ever the aroma 
Of kindness rare and sweet." 

Enough ! and yet the distant beacons beckon, 

The shining steeps allure. 
We long to breathe — the impulse is of 
Heaven — 

Those airs serene and pure; 

To stand beside the noble souls who con- 
quered, 

Who would not be downcast. 
Who, after all the heartache and the failures, 

Have won success at last. 

Some day — who knows? — after the toil and 
patience. 
The conflict long and tense, 
There yet may come to us life's crowning 
glory 
Of richest recompense. 
[84] 



THE NOONDAY CHIMES 

OUT o'er the snowy city roofs at noon, 
Out o'er the home, the market and the 
street, 
With solemn intonation floats a prayer — 
A lyric strain, melodious and sweet. 

A message in that mellow music rings. 

Far-flung upon the wind it peals and swells, 
With sweet reiteration day by day, 

From vibrant, silver-tongued cathedral 
bells. 

"Lift up your hearts to God!" — the strain 
sublime 
With pulsing, rhythmic cadence throbs and 
thrills. 
While listening hearts turn, silent. Heaven- 
ward, 
And longing eyes are lifted to the hills. 

[85I 



THE NOONDAY CHIMES 

O let that music sink in every soul ! 

O let it echo far across the sea, 
And breathe amid the discord, fierce and wild, 

A tuneful, tender prayer from you and me ! 

*'Lift up your hearts!" — ''We Hft them to 
the Lord"— 
Our longings heavenward waft on music's 
wing. 
God give us peace that blossoms bright from 
tears, 
God save our valiant men, our noble King ! 



[86] 



MOTHER OF MINE 

THERE shines no pearl in the deep, deep 
sea, 
Mother of mine. 
So fair, so rare as your love to me, 
Mother, mother of mine. 

The stars may wane, and the sun grow 
pale. 

Mother of mine; 
I know that never your love shall fail. 

Mother, mother of mine. 

My wayward feet in the far-off days, 

Mother of mine. 
You led in ever the safest ways. 

Mother, mother of mine. 

[87] 



MOTHER OF MINE 



The sweetest truths that a child may know, 

Mother of mine, 
Your voice instilled in the long ago, 

Mother, mother of mine. 



You taught me praise and you taught me 
prayer, 

Mother of mine; 
And a simple faith in a Father's care, 

Mother, mother of mine. 



You bade me rise from the common clod, 

Mother of mine, 
To purer heights on the hills of God, 

Mother, mother of mine. 



You taught me love for the finer things, 

Mother of mine; 
I drank of joy from the secret springs. 

Mother, mother of mine. 
[88] 



MOTHER OF MINE 

I've wandered forth In the world afar, 

Mother of mine. 
Your truth was ever my polar star, 

Mother, mother of mine. 



God's loving-kindness each morn is new, 

Mother of mine^ — 
I thank Him most that He gave me you, 

Mother, mother of mine. 



Your children arise and call you blest. 
Mother of mine. 

Our dearest treasure, the sweetest, best- 
Mother, mother of mine. 



This wreath I weave for your crowning, 
dear. 

Mother of mine, 
God bless you, keep you for many a year, 

Mother, mother of mine. 

[89] 



QTHER POETRY 

YOU WOULD 



ENJOY READING 



135] 



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SONGS 

BY 

PATRICK MACGILL 

Author of "Children of the Dead End," etc. 



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the poems in this volume were written 
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MacGill has also written an interesting 
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Net $1.00 



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